Second Chance
by And your bird can sing
Summary: For soccer, Bella Swan will do whatever it takes to be the best—even disguising herself as a boy to attend the country's best camp. Her only real problem with the arrangement is her roommate, that Edward Cullen. But hey, things change...AH, slightly OOC
1. Plans and Planes

**Title: Second Chance**

_Summary: _Bella Swan will do whatever it takes to be the best at soccer—even disguising herself as a boy to attend the country's best camp. Her only real problem with the arrangement is her roommate, the horrible Edward Cullen. But hey, at Cal South, anything can happen…AH, slightly OOC

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.**

**A/N: This story is all-human. I just got this idea and I attempted to put it into writing. It's going to be a little out of character—Bella's very much a tomboy and really sarcastic. Sorry in advance for any weird formatting-I have trouble spacing things on here. Hope you like it!**

**Chapter 1- Plans and Planes**

_Bella's POV_

It was _not _supposed to happen this way.

The way it was supposed to happen was that I was going to go to California South Developmental Soccer Camp in Santa Barbara. Okay, it's an all-boys camp, yes, but I'm a very one-track mind kind of person. And if Cal South is the best soccer camp in America, I was going to be there.

It took some work and luck, my specialties. First the lucky part—well, for me—my friend Jacob broke his leg at the beginning of the summer. He's okay—but he couldn't play soccer for the whole summer and he was signed up for Cal South. So Jacob, me, and some other friends made arrangements...I would masquerade as him for the summer so I could play.

A lot of people wouldn't break the rules so horribly—and in a way that was _so _easy to get caught—but when it comes to soccer, I will do whatever it takes. I want to be the best in the world, and that's hard living on a Forks' police officer's salary. There's no money to send me across the world to play soccer even though I'm good enough.

Anyway, at first everything went okay. I haven't gotten kicked out of Cal South—yet—but things haven't exactly turned out how I planned (i.e. soccer, soccer, soccer...).

See, I wasn't counting on _Edward._

Edward is my amazing, athletic, kind, smart, sweet, funny, gorgeous, green-eyed roommate...who thinks I'm a boy named Jacob.

Which sucks, because I think I'm falling in love with him.

**One Month Earlier (June 2****nd****)**

"I think this could actually work," I said, pulling on the ends of my hair.

"It will," Emmett said confidently. "And besides, if anything weird happens I can cover for you."

It was a week after our junior year at Forks High had ended, and Emmett, Rosalie, Alice, Jacob, and I were in Alice's room, discussing, _again_, procedures for the plan involving me getting into California South Developmental Soccer Camp (Cal South) without getting caught.

See, a few weeks ago, Jacob broke his leg, meaning he couldn't go to Cal South for the summer. He knew how I would kill to be in his place—I had been complaining about it for weeks—so he decided to give me the chance to disguise myself as him and go. Easier said than done, right?

Well, I had to learn how to talk like a guy, learn how to walk like a guy, hide my breasts (sports bras and t shirts, all the time), various other things, and lastly, cut my hair up to my ears. Doing that would probably break another girl's heart. Another girl, not me. I'm not as vapid, materialistic, stupid, and vain as the rest of them.

Also, I've had to deceive my father Charlie with the help of Rosalie and Alice. They are going to St. Maria's Academy for Girls for the summer (picture me throwing up) where I was also supposed to be attending. Charlie would freak if he found out about the whole Cal South arrangement, so we're keeping it from him. He's only going to call me on my cell phone and my absence at St. Maria's will be explained by some "terminal illness."

Anyway, Emmett (who's going to Cal South too, if I forgot to mention that) and I are both catching our plane to Santa Barbara tomorrow and that's when I officially start being a guy for the summer—day and night—because just my luck, we have roommates. And Emmett isn't mine.

"Right," I said.

"Give us some lines in your 'guy' voice," Jacob said, grabbing his crutches so they wouldn't slide and hit the ground.

"Okay. 'Sup? I'm Jacob Black from the Olympic Peninsula. My interests are...soccer, girls, and soccer."

They all laughed.

"What?" I asked.

"It's believable enough to fool guys," Alice said, still giggling. "They won't think it's possible for a girl to be better than them, anyway."

"But I will be," I sang, punching Jacob hard enough for him to wince.

"Yeah," Emmett and Jacob said together. "If you can kick both of our asses than you can kick _any _guy's ass."

"Exactly," said Alice. "The only thing that really bothers me about this is...oh, Bella how can you dress in t shirts and shorts the whole summer...? Your fashion sense will go down the toilet..." She looked at Rosalie with wide, fearful eyes. Rosalie nodded in agreement while Emmett, Jacob, and I snorted.

"Please. I have bigger problems than my fashion sense. Problems like getting caught and kicked out," I replied.

"That would suck," Jacob said. "And I'll probably get in trouble too, you know, for letting you impersonate me or something."

"Yeah, not good," Emmett agreed.

"Definitely not good," I agreed. Then I looked at the clock on Alice's side table. _Ten o'clock? Where did time go? Tomorrow at four Emmett and I were leaving for the airport...this was too soon, this was too soon..._

"I'm not ready for this," I moaned, falling onto Alice's bed.

"Sure you are," Alice said happily. "You can handle anything, Bella."

She sounded one-hundred percent true, not a hint of doubt. I however, knew differently. I couldn't handle anything—the only thing I can truly handle is a soccer ball. And even that's out of my control sometimes.

**Early the next morning**

"I hate planes, I hate planes," Emmett chanted, like he had been doing since we had taken off from the Port Angeles airport a half hour ago. Emmett had a deathly fear of flying and for some reason he continued to stare out the window, chanting, instead of going to sleep/watching a movie/listening to his iPod/anything else I said for him to do.

I chose just to ignore him, drowning his voice out with the sweet, beautiful music that was the Beatles. I could listen to them forever.

_Words are flowing out like endless rain…_

"I hate planes, I hate planes..."

"Would you like a complementary bag of pretzels?"

_Pools of sorrow, waves of joy, are drifting through my open mind…_

"We are now landing in Seattle, Washington. All passengers must exit..."

Ah, the music of flying.

Emmett, who was now looking quite green, grabbed his carry-on bag and nearly ran off the plane.

"Wuss!" I yelled after him. Sighing, I pulled on my backpack and went to get both of our suitcases.

I was in the full male look now, which was very weird. I really, _really _wanted to pull up my jeans (they were nearly falling off my butt) but that would go against the "guy code" which, ironically, was written by Alice and Rosalie. How I trust them with anything, hell, how I'm even friends with them, I have no idea, that's just the way it is.

"How are ya doing?" asked Emmett.

"Fine," I answered in my deep voice. "Everything's going to be okay."

And I believed that.

**A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read this! If you liked it or have a comment, review! Even if you didn't like it tell me why you thought it sucked. **


	2. Welcome to Cal South

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.**

**Ch. 2- Welcome to Cal South**

_Edward's POV_

**Late Afternoon on June 3****rd**

"Cullen, Edward?"

I looked up at the counselor in front of the large crowd of guys for the first time.

"Here," I said, giving a small wave. The counselor, a fit-looking thirty-year old man eyed me appreciatively. No doubt he knew of my achievements in soccer and was looking for me to prove them. As I was also looking forward to proving to him, and the rest of this camp for that matter.

I was the best forward in my entire state by far—and was certainly the best midfielder and defender as well. I never tired and my speed and strength were far beyond that of an average human's. On the field, I was a monster, absolutely lethal.

"Okay," he said, marking that I was present on a clipboard. "Welcome to Cal South. Come up and get your packet."

I rose stiffly from the fold-up chair I had been sitting in, and retrieved my packet. The front page was my schedule for the entire summer except for the last week which would be all tournaments, all day.

_**Edward Cullen's Daily Schedule (Sunday-Friday, Saturday off)**_

_**Team A**_

_***Note that teams will be playing for the prestigious California South Developmental Soccer Camp Cup at the end of camp***_

_**6:45 Wake up and prepare for morning run**_

_**7:00 Easy four mile run**_

_**7:45 Breakfast**_

_**8:30 Stretch & Morning Drills**_

_**12:30 Lunch**_

_**1:15 Afternoon Scrimmages**_

_**4:00 Evening Drills & Cool Down**_

_**6:00 Showers**_

_**7:00 Dinner**_

_**8:00 Free Time**_

_**11:30 Curfew- MUST REMAIN IN DORM ROOM UNTIL 7 AM THE NEXT MORNING UNLESS THERE IS AN EMERGENCY.**_

_**Dorm: 38-C**_

_**Roommate: Jacob Black of La Push, Washington**_

I already knew who my roommate was; it was on the acceptance letter from the camp that I received a few weeks ago. However, now would be the first time that I would see the person who I would be living with and playing with for the next three months.

I was not looking forward to this.

I've always been the kind of person that flies solo—it's understandable, considering I don't really have time for hanging out with friends or having a girlfriend when I'm either: a) playing soccer, b) doing schoolwork, or c) preparing for/going to a soccer practice/game/tournament.

At least, that's my excuse.

If I'm truly being honest, the reason is that I don't relate to people my age very well. I find most of the things important to teenagers (i.e. girlfriends/boyfriends, friends, teachers, weight, clothes, and the future) quite trivial. This leads to me treating my peers as children (and I have reason to do so—what kind of person obsesses over their appearance? People who don't have important things to do with their lives!) and them thinking of me as stuck-up.

Anyway, because of the interests of the average teenager (the kind of person this Jacob Black would be, no doubt) I was not looking forward to living in rather close proximity with him for the next three months. At least he was a soccer player—that meant I could at least stand to be in the same room as him.

I turned the page of my packet to see a few pages of basic information on Cal South—I skipped it—I would probably read it later during my 'Free Time' which would surely be monotonous. The next few pages were about the coaches and their glory days as soccer stars. I skipped those too—I could care less. I flipped through the rest of the packet—none of it held my attention—until few pages. On these pages was a _required _survey with our roommate. And damn it, it was _long._

_Think about soccer, _I thought to myself. _Think about the World Cup; think about the 2016 Olympics...you have to deal with this camp to get to both of those places._

Suddenly I realized that the counselor had finished attendance and had dismissed everyone to their dorm rooms. _Well, this should be fun, _I thought sarcastically as I pulled my backpack on and rolled my suitcase across the uneven gravel path.

I stepped into the dorm room, and my first thoughts were that it was at least bigger than I thought it would be. This was a summer camp, so the floor was earth and we would have to sleep on bunk beds (There were two sets though). However the bunk beds freed up a lot of space in the room, so there would definitely be enough room for the small amount of possessions I had brought with me.

As I was unpacking, I heard the door open and someone grunt in contentment. I whirled around and found myself head on with Jacob Black.

Well, not really head on because I was looking down. He was _small—_short and thin in the extremes, with almost no muscle. His jeans and green t-shirt seemed to swallow up his body—they were much too large for him. He was also almost as pale as _me, _I realized in shock. The pale skin was a huge contrast against his dark hair that reached his ears and his brown eyes. His eyes were odd too—dark eyes usually seemed flat but his seemed like puddles with endless depths.

He was staring at me, as well—taking my appearance in, like I was his—but I finally broke the silence.

"I'm Edward Cullen," I said, smiling.

_Bella's POV_

**Still Late Afternoon on June 3rd**

"See you, Emmett," I said (deep voice, of course) as we both walked to our different rooms. I was pretty scared that Emmett and I weren't roommates because now there was no time when I could ever let up my guy façade for three months. Plus, I wasn't sure how other guys would think of me and it would be nice to have him by my side to defend me. We weren't even on the same _team. _I took a deep breath and fiddled with my t-shirt and sports bra.

Suddenly, I was almost consumed by fear. How did I expect anyone to fall for this? Even with short hair, hidden breasts, guy clothes, and more muscle than most girls, I still didn't exactly look like a sixteen-year old guy. At all.

_This will all work out somehow, _I thought. _You're not just _some girl,_ pretending to be a guy. You're Bella Swan, star right wing on the All-Star Tigers, state champions, three years running. Sixth place in America. You can do anything._

Then I opened the door of my room that I would be sharing with—I looked down at my packet—Edward Cullen from Chicago. Heaving my bags, I looked around. Nice room, for a camp. The only problem was the sets of bunk beds—I had a feeling that I would somehow find a way to fall off of those; despite being sufficiently able to play soccer I still was clumsy to the point of being a danger to myself and others.

Edward Cullen had his back to me, was unpacking his things on the right side of the room. Even from just looking at his back, I could tell he was a gifted athlete. It was something in the way he held his back.

I grunted—that was a guy thing to do, right?—in satisfaction at the room's appearance. And then he turned.

Whoa.

I could see his muscles even more than I could from behind—it wasn't like he was a bodybuilder, his muscles were the wiry kind, but were still plenty visible through his navy blue t-shirt and jeans. He had tousled bronze hair just long enough to graze the tips of his eyelashes. He was very pale, but still every feature on his face was perfect and straight. But it was his eyes—glittering emeralds—

_What _is _wrong _with me? Did I just think that his eyes were _glittering emeralds? _

Damn it, Alice and Rose have officially destroyed the headstrong, intelligent girl I used to be. Eventually all their talk of purses and dreamy eyes and nail polish and princes on white horses had to get to me. Before I know it I'll be crying for Prince Charming to rescue me from the dungeon. How pathetic.

"I'm Edward Cullen," he said, smiling. Somehow, I already hated him.

"Er, hi. I'm Jacob Black." I wasn't concentrating on my voice, so I sounded like I had laryngitis. Great.

"I know," he said. I started to say where I was from but he interrupted me. "Washington State, I know. And I'm from Chicago. Look, if you didn't know, we have to do this roommate survey"—he gestured to a page in his packet—"by tomorrow. Not to be rude, but I'd rather just do it now so I can do my own thing tonight, okay? I really don't want to spend more time than completely necessary with you."

"Well, I thought that _was _extremelyrude, on the contrary of your statement. You could have at least pretended to be nice, that's what I was planning on doing." I jumped lithely (I have no idea how) onto the top bunk of my set of bunk beds.

I was pleased to note that his expression was dumbfounded from my statement and the astonishing jump.

I grabbed a pen and my packet and wrote down _Edward Cullen _under _Roommate's Name _and _Chicago _under _Hometown. _I looked ahead to some of the other questions and noticed they got quite personal. Apparently the creators of this survey wanted us to learn many things about our roommates. Well, shit on them. I wasn't telling him anything.

"Okay, where were you born?" he asked.

"La Push, Washington. You?"

"Chicago. Age?"

"Sixteen," I answered, rolling my eyes.

"Seventeen. Interests?"

"Sex, drugs, and tea parties," I said with a smirk. He received it with enough shock to make me see that he knew nothing of the first two. Well, neither did I. But I could pretend I did.

"Soccer, music, and more soccer," he said, flashing a toothpaste-ad smile. "Do you play any instruments?"

"Flugelhorn. You?"

"Piano."

These short, cold answers of his and me completely lying went on and on... until we came to music.

"So...what's your favorite music?" I asked.

"Everything, well not country. And especially classical."

"Classical?" I said in disbelief. He seemed to have been honest with me so far, and liking classical music…that took balls. "Honestly?"

"Is your favorite food honestly codfish sperm?"

"Do you think I would lie to you?" I asked with wide, innocent eyes.

He sighed. "Well I guess that's everything." He turned back to unpacking.

"Wait," I said. "What team are you on?" 

"Team A," he said flatly.

"Me too!" I exclaimed, pretending to be excited. "We are gonna have so, so, so much fun!"

"Yeah. Totally."

Oh, Edward Cullen. You have no idea.

**A/N: Hey, wow guys, thanks for the reviews for the last chapter! I wasn't expecting any since it was a first chapter, so muchas gracias to you amazing people! Also, some of you know that this story was originally on my old account, seen-by-the-blind. However, I am rewriting it slightly. I'm trying to add a bit more...pizzazz to Bella's character. In the books & most fanfics, I find her character to be so boring, obsessive, and sexist, which just doesn't jive with me. So my version of Bella has quite a 'tude (you'll eventually find out why...)Well, I've droned on long enough-the next chapter will be up soon & please tell me what you thought of this one!**


	3. Moonlit Run and the Parrots

**Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.**

**A/N: Wow, you guys are awesome, thanks for the reviews last chapter, they made me happy. So here's chapter three!**

**Ch. 3- Moonlit Run and the Parrots**

_Bella's POV_

**Very Early Morning on June 4****th**

I checked to see if Edward Cullen was asleep. He was.

Still, just for good measure, I tiptoed past his sleeping figure and out the door, shutting it behind me quietly.

I can never sleep when I'm stressed out or worried (I think that means I'm a transient insomniac?) and I was both at the moment. Of course, I had several reasons.

First, my whole pretending-to-be-Jacob thing, which, despite my trust in my plan at the airport this morning, I thought would crash and burn in roughly an hour or two. Now I had to deal with the idea that I would possibly get away with my screwed up plan and end up pretending to be a guy the whole summer. Not good. Secondly, my roommate was an ass and it didn't seem like he was changing that status anytime soon. Thirdly, I was shorter, less muscular, skinnier, and had no hair on my chin, armpits, or legs. My shin guards would cover my lack of leg hair, but the rest was a problem. Guys like to make fun of each other—it's part of their genetic makeup. I was marked to be, no doubt, a victim because of those things. And fourthly, we started playing soccer tomorrow…actually later today.

Now, I'm not the type of girl to brag, (wait, actually I am, but I digress) but I'm pretty amazing at soccer. My team holds basically all the state and regional titles and is sixth in the country. And I'm our MVP…every year.

Still…these were some of the best (and richest… there were scholarships though—that's how Jake got in) male athletes in the country. And I wasn't exactly excited to play with them and look like I sucked.

By now, I was leaving the C-dorms and heading outside. It was far after curfew—two or three, I think—but I just couldn't stay inside when the weather was like this.

See, ever since I moved to Forks, Washington (aka the rainiest place in the world) at the beginning of this year, I have begun to appreciate—no, _revere_—good weather. And here in Santa Barbara, it was the best of the best.

The sky was that perfect darkness—black as pitch, but with glittering stars and the round moon lighting the way.

I breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the crystal-clear ocean and the wildflowers growing sparsely throughout the beach.

I exhaled, and then took off.

If I had it my way, I would spend most of my time running. The air whooshing in my face, the rhythm of my old sneakers slapping against the ground…it was my favorite way to be. It didn't take any concentration or focus, I just _ran._

Sometimes I thought about things while I ran, but most of the time I didn't. It wasn't really something that required me to do anything—just keep my feet moving forward, the whole world in a daze.

It's like my drug—my personal way to escape without going too far.

**That Afternoon**

"Jake! My buddy! How's it going, man?" Emmett's voice boomed from across the cafeteria.

"Hey, Emmett," I said, swallowing part of my burrito roughly. "What's up?"

"I'll tell you what's up!" he said loudly, slamming his tray down on the table and sitting next to me. "We're starting our scrimmages in an hour! And we have to pick team names!"

"But aren't we just Team A or whatever letter?" I asked, confused.

Emmett shook his head slowly like I was mentally incompetent.

"No, Jacob. That's how we know how to meet up with our team and stuff. Once we meet with our teams we decide on the name!"

I tried to figure out what was so exciting about this…nope, couldn't think of anything.

"Cool, Emmett."

Obviously I wasn't psyched enough, so he added: "This is important B-Jake!"

"Nice save," I noted.

"I won't mess this up for you. I promise," he whispered.

"Thanks," I whispered back in my normal voice.

"No problem," he said, squeezing my hand. "See ya out there."

"Yeah," I answered. Emmett punched me on the shoulder and then jogged out the open door. I looked down at my lunch, suddenly not very hungry anymore. I dumped all the contents of my tray in the trash and headed out to meet with Team A for the first time.

_Edward's POV_

When I was in first grade and on my first soccer team, my parents were told "Edward has competitive issues."

Well, I don't have competitive issues. I just _have to win._

There's a difference.

So today, when Team A got into a huddle for the first time, I sized up each of my teammates, anxious to see how easy it would be to win the Cal South…cup, I believe? (All those awards run together when you're the best).

Towards the right were James Stoker, Mike Newton, Tyler Crowley, Ricky Lawrence, Sam Banks, Danny Richardson, and a few other guys whose names I didn't know from national leagues. Good. I knew that they were great players, but had nothing on me.

Only two people were on Team A that weren't from various national leagues: a gawky, greasy-haired boy with acne problems and that miniscule smartass, Jacob Black. They totally must've paid their way here—I could tell just by looking at them that they had hardly any skill when it came to athletics.

I sighed. Thank God there were thirteen people on this team so Acne and Shorty could spend the quality time they deserved on the bench.

Suddenly, I noticed the silence that had been pounding in my ears. Nobody was speaking… odd, shouldn't someone be saying _something?_

I had never been used to the role as leader of the team—although some people expected me to, due to my ability—I just scored goals. None of that teamwork crap that coaches were so into. But my mother and father had raised me to be polite, and it seemed like this was the time.

"Hello," I said to the rest of my team. A few muffled "heys" were my answer.

"Well…"

Just then, the thirty-year old man who had given me my schedule yesterday yelled into a microphone:

"Hey, guys! Welcome to Cal South! I'm Head Coach Joe, I played soccer at…" I ignored the man as he went into an excited and detailed description of his college soccer years. Finally, the torture was over and he said, "Okay, guys! Time to pick your team name—hope you didn't think you would be Team C or something the whole summer! You can pick anything _appropriate _you want for your team name! Fun, fun! And you can't change it, so make it good!"

This was so immature. Picking team names? I hadn't done any of that type of crap since elementary school.

Sighing, I looked toward my teammates. Mike Newton and Tyler Crowley seemed excited about this stupidity.

"Let's be the Tigers!" Mike exclaimed.

"No, the Ravens!" yelled Tyler.

"_Definitely not. _How 'bout the Dinosaurs?"

Then the other members of the team joined in.

"The Jaguars!"

"The Bears!"

"The Indians!"

"The Yellowjackets!"

"The Cosmos!"

"The Cardinals!"

"The Walruses!"

"Nah, we have to be the Dinosaurs!" Mike said loudly.

I found myself just shaking my head.

_Bella's POV_

Teenage boys are so immature. You'd think that something like naming their team wouldn't be a big deal to them, right?

Well, you thought wrong. Even after the huge dispute over the official team name nobody was happy with the choice: the Phantoms. A blond boy with bright blue eyes was glaring at an African-American boy who was glaring at a red-haired, young-looking boy. All over a team name.

Did I mention how immature teenage boys were?

The voice of my roommate, Edward Cullen, quickly distracted me from my thoughts.

"Hello? Jacob Black? Did you even hear what I said?"

"Sorry, what?"

"I just asked you to introduce yourself to the team about ten minutes ago," he said, exasperated. His expression changed to a superior one as he continued. "Then James and I started a bet about your weight. My estimate is 70 to 80 pounds; he's going much larger—100 to 110! What would it be, Shorty?"

I almost resisted the urge to flick him off. Key word: _almost_.

"I don't see how any of that is your business," I responded coldly.

"Chill, chill," said the African-American guy with a slight Jamaican accent. "It was just a joke. So, uh, dude can you just tell us your name, age, and position?"

"Jacob Black. Sixteen years old," I said through my teeth.

"Position, Shorty? If you have ever played this little game I enjoy? Soccer, I think it's called?" Edward Cullen asked, looking at me with innocent eyes.

I walked towards him so I was right in his face. Giving him the most intimidating look I could muster, I hissed, "Right wing."

"'Fraid that one's mine, Shorty."

I laughed humorlessly. "We'll see."

**That night at dinner**

"Jake! Over here!" called Emmett, waving his hands and looking like an idiot.

"Hey, Emmett," I said, bringing my pizza and soda towards him. We were having a pizza party on account of it being our first full day of camp.

"Hey Jake," he said, ever-cheery. Compared to him, I was like the Grim Reaper. "How was your first day?"

I told him my team name and about my terrible relationship with my roommate.

"Tough luck, Shorty," he said.

"Shorty?"

"That kid may be an asshole, but he did give you a good nickname." I sighed.

"So what's your team name?" I asked in a not so subtle way to change to subject.

"The Parrots," Emmett answered proudly, taking a bite of pizza.

Well, I knew who came up with that name, but asked anyway, causing Emmett to launch into a long, detailed description of why parrots were important to his grandfather or something; I wasn't paying attention.

I was paying attention to—well, glaring at, actually—a boy with green eyes who totally deserved to be kicked in the ass.

And tomorrow, he would be.

**A/N: Hope you liked this chapter & please review! Oh, and the next chapter won't be up for more than a week because I'm going on vacation to Florida. **


	4. My Girlfriend, Alice and Magic

**Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.**

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry it's been a while since I updated. I was on vacation and I started school last week and I had to read Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins (it was absolutely amazing!) and yeah, I have plenty of excuses. So here's the fourth chapter!**

**Ch. 4- My Girlfriend, Alice and Magic**

_Bella's POV_

**June 5****th**** – 7 AM**

I forced myself to concentrate on my feet pounding on the ground, the early morning breeze's sweet breath of my face, my intense hunger—_anything _but the conversation swirling around me.

"My girl, Rochelle, is a Victoria's Secret model…"

"Liar! Why would a Victoria's Secret model date _you_?"

"Oh please. Who would date _you_?"

"My girlfriend, Cindy! Oh my God, the only thing I'm homesick for are her tits..."

"I'm sure Cindy's are _nothing _compared to Ashley's…"

"What kinda girl do you look for, Newton?" asked the guy with the slight Jamaican accent who I now knew of as "Crowley." (All of the guys here called each other by their last names. Except me, of course—now everyone called me "Shorty." Damn Edward Cullen.)

"Well, I always want a sexy girl who's pretty damn crazy 'bout me!" answered Mike (or Newton or whatever). "That's my girl, Jessica, right there."

A bunch of guys murmured in agreement. Newton looked smug.

"What's your girlfriend like, Shorty?" Cullen snickered. "Is she taller than you?"

I knew that if I said I didn't have a girlfriend, they would all get hysterical and make fun of me for the rest of the summer, so I did something I'd been doing a lot lately: I lied.

"My girlfriend is…" I began, trailing off.

"Whoa. You've actually got one, Shorty?" Cullen exclaimed.

"Yeah, I do," I said icily. "She's smart and headstrong and funny and loves me."

"Must be ugly," someone laughed.

"You all are so obsessed with looks! You have such a misogynistic agenda and I, for one, do not want to partake in a conversation that objectifies women like pieces of meat. It's disgusting," I said bitterly.

All the guys looked at me like I had three heads. Okay, okay, so maybe I should cool my jets on the whole feminism thing. But really, the way women are viewed in today's society! It makes me seethe...

Emmett began to clap, but quickly stopped when everyone looked at him like he was a mental patient for agreeing with me.

Great, now I'm so unpopular that even one of my best friends won't stand up for me.

"So, um, what's your girlfriend's name?" some kind soul asked, making the situation slightly less painful for everyone involved.

"Her name is, uh, Alice."

Emmett snorted.

"Something, um, got in my nose," he lied awkwardly.

Luckily, our morning run was over then and it was time for breakfast. Not wanting to be at the punch line of any jokes (though it was inevitable now), I grabbed a bagel, tore Emmett away from his chocolate chip pancakes, and headed for the row of pay phones (no cell phones allowed inside the camp).

"You almost blew my cover there, Einstein," I huffed as we walked through the maze of tables.

"God, you're being so paranoid. You and Alice? C'mon, I _had _to laugh." I rolled my eyes.

"Funny," he continued. "She is actually shorter than you."

I sighed. "I'm not even that short. 5'4 is pretty average."

"Yeah…for a girl," he replied, causing me to roll my eyes again.

We reached the pay phones and I checked to make sure we were alone.

"Give me a signal if someone's in hearing range, okay?" I told Emmett as I inserted my quarters.

"Yeah, okay," he said in a sad voice, obviously giving me a hard time about taking him away from his pancakes.

"I'll only be a minute, I promise," I pleaded. I felt bad for taking him away from his breakfast, but I needed someone to tell me if anyone was coming.

I checked my watch. Charlie would be at the station now; perfect for a quick conversation. I dialed the number; Charlie answered on the first ring.

"Chief Swan speaking."

"Hey, Dad," I said, speaking in my normal voice for the first time in a while.

"Bells? Hi, how are you? And your friends?"

"I'm good. Rosalie and Alice are good. We've had so much fun. But we're still learning a lot, definitely. St. Margaret's is good..."

"You mean St. Maria's, right?" Crap. Leave it to me to mess up the name.

"St. Maria's, that's what I totally meant. Sorry Dad! It's, uh, early you know, and I've been praying and learning so much…" My voice sounded completely fake, just like it always did when I lied. I prayed that Charlie wouldn't pick up on it.

"Learning about what?" he asked.

"English literature—you know, Shakespeare. We're reading _Twelfth Night,_" I lied. Charlie hated reading, so hopefully that would stop him from commenting on that.

"Keep up your studies, Bella."

"Bella," Emmett said lowly, pointing to a few coaches walking towards us.

"Well, uh, sorry Dad I have to go," I said in my deep voice.

"Are you okay, Bells? Your voice sounds strange."

"I have a sore throat. Gottagobye!" I said the last part in one breath, hanging up the phone on a confused Charlie.

_Edward's POV_

**That Afternoon**

"My sincerest apologies again, guys, for the fact that we didn't get to start playing yesterday. Picking the team names seemed to take a lot longer than I thought…" Head Coach Joe said. "Well, regardless, we're going to start scrimmaging today, so I hope you're all ready!"

Oh, I was ready.

"Also," Head Coach Joe continued. "I will be assigning each coach a team, and that coach will decide playing time, positions, what teams you will scrimmage, etc, etc. They will also help improve the weaknesses of every member of your team. I expect that you will treat your coach with respect and appreciation, guys! Okay, so with that said, I'm going to start calling off the names of the coaches and what team they will be working with. The Wildcats' coach will be Coach Mickey…"

He droned down the list of coaches and teams, not holding my attention until he reached the Phantoms, my team.

"The Phantoms' coach will be Coach Seth." As these words came out of Head Coach Joe's mouth, a tall, gangly man with russet brown skin in his late twenties loped across the field towards where my team was gathered.

"Hiya guys," he said to us after Head Coach Joe was finished speaking. "I'm Coach Seth Clearwater, but you guys can just call me Seth. Today's our first scrimmage, which I know is very exciting for most of you guys. It's also exciting because I' m going to evaluate each of your strengths and weaknesses and utilize the strengths and work on the weaknesses so that we can win the Cal South Cup in August!"

A few people cheered, but most of us looked impatient, causing Seth to look at his clipboard again, probably for our positions so he could decide who to start for the time being.

He began rattling off names. "Jenks. Newton. Wallace. Stoker. Lawrence. Banks. Richardson. Cullen. Jones. Harrison. And Yorkie, you're goalie."

Well, that was just great. Acne was our main defensive man. (The only player I wouldn't rather have there was Shorty). _Just for the time being, _I thought to myself, taking a deep breath. _Just for the time being. _

I jogged onto the field, savoring the view, the smells, the taste. There was a reason this was the most expensive soccer camp in the country; it was by far the most beautiful.

Time did not move at a normal pace while I was on the field; it went conspicuously faster. When I'm not feeling my cleats dig into the grass or hearing the sound of my foot striking the ball, life is a bleak, gray thing.

But when I play soccer, suddenly the world is full of bright colors and music. I know what I'm supposed to do and how I'm supposed to act. And it seems as if being the empty shell I am in regular life, just going through the motions, is all an illusion. Because how can any part of the world that includes this sport not be equally majestic?

Suddenly, the glittering black and white orb is at my foot, and I know I must deliver it to its rightful place. My heart beats frantically, begging for me to slow down, but I pay no notice to it. The journey up the field, around the defenders, feels like a wonderful dream. Even the grunt of the goaltender has he reaches as high as he can go and misses is wonderful; as is the sound of the referee's whistle, announcing "Phantoms—one. Wildcats—zero!"

This happened three more times before Seth yelled, "Cullen, out! Black, in!"

When I sat next to him on the bench, he punched me, hard.

"What the hell was that for?" I asked, wincing.

"For not being a team player, Cullen. I get that you're a superstar. Save if for the playoffs."

I rolled my eyes and started watching the game.

The Wildcats had just gotten a goal—Danny Richardson had made a terrible move on defense, completely falling for a fake—and had left Acne our only chance to keep the Wildcats from scoring. Acne was helpless, letting in a shot that was pathetically easy to defend.

Now, James Stoker had possession at midfield. That was good—he was extremely capable of maneuvering around defenders. Somehow, though, he got surrounded and was forced to pass the ball back to…Jacob Black.

Damn it. Well there went a chance for a goal.

Except, for some reason, my eyes were playing tricks on me. That wasn't _Jacob Black _that kept possession and was barreling inhumanly down the field. That had to be…someone else on our team. Someone who was also very short and had dark brown hair. Someone who now had just scored a picture-perfect goal.

"Holy crap, did you just _see _that?" Seth asked me.

"See what?"

"Jacob Black—_that tiny kid!_—just scored. That goalie, Laurent Rice, is one of the best defenders in the country! How in hell are we beating his team five to one? This is like…a movie or something," Seth whispered.

That seemed like a suitable conclusion when Jacob Black scored again. And again. And again. Seth had stopped being awed now and was just mad. He took Shorty out and gave him the superstar talk minus the punch.

I felt like this wasn't real. Like I was in one of those stupid sports movies where the wimpy, worst player on the team becomes amazing and is the reason his team wins the championship. Except this was our first scrimmage, so it wasn't really like that.

I felt like screaming. Shorty could play soccer. Shorty was _just as good as me._

_Seth's POV_

I sighed and wrote on my clipboard:

_Edward Cullen's weakness: does not pass/not a team player_

_Jacob Black's weakness: does not pass/not a team player_

_Other than that, they are both clearly the best players on the team. I don't think I've ever seen players that come close to their ability in all the years I have coached and played. The only problem is that they hate each other and value themselves above all of the other players on the team. Which I need to change ASAP._

Two amazing, magical, egotistical star right wings. Well, one thing's for sure: this summer would be unlike all the others.

_Edward's POV_

**That Night**

Instead of spending free time in the various game rooms and rec rooms littered through Cal South's campus, I planned to spend it alone in my dorm room, sulking about Jacob Black. Immature, I know. I can't help it. I hate losing. Saying the l-word gives me a foul taste in my mouth. Edward Cullen doesn't…well, you know.

Okay, so technically Shorty and I are on the same team and all, but _I'm _used to being the _only _best player on the team. I'm used to being the _only_ one people are in awe of.

That's how this summer was supposed to be. And then Jacob Black has to come and ruin everything.

I know this sounds extremely childish, but I want to get him back in some way. Get _revenge _on him for coming here. Who did he think he was, anyway?

The more I thought about Jacob Black, the more I hated him and the more I hated him the more I wanted revenge.

And because I was Edward Cullen, I knew it would happen. And soon.

**A/N: Hope you liked that chapter, and please review! And sorry in advance for any late updates I'm taking way too many AP classes for my own good and I'm just having writer's block with this story for some reason.**


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